


Do You Remember

by Pogue



Series: Fic Requests [1]
Category: Fast & Furious (Movies), Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - 50 First Dates Fusion, Amnesia, Angst, Background Shobbs, Gen, Other minor characters mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25481338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pogue/pseuds/Pogue
Summary: Owen Shaw wakes up after the events of F6 with no memory of what happened. But he has the vague feeling that Deckard is in trouble, and needs his help.
Series: Fic Requests [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845889
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Do You Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kiki_Taffy for sending in this request!

Consciousness seeped beneath Owen’s eyelids like the first rays of a sunrise. And then it burst into a bright burning existence that hurt to look directly into.

He sat bolt upright, gasping and grasping at his throat. He’s expecting to find a breathing tube attached to his throat and a heart monitor attached to his finger. But there was nothing.

Why had he expected something to be there?

Owen looked around. He wasn’t in a hospital room. It looked more like a bedroom except there were no windows. It did have a kind of hospital-like feel. But almost like it had been made for him specifically. Was he in some kind of prison?

He straightened, trying to remember what happened, but it was all blank. He squinted to himself. What was the last thing he remembered?

His eyes landed on a small model car. It looked like the prototype he’d built for...

He… He and his team had been working on a job in London. Toretto had just interfered, and Letty started asking questions. Things had begun to unravel a little, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. But that unraveling feeling bled into how he was feeling right now.

Unraveled.

He looked around the room, trying to find something to trigger his memory. He knew if he thought hard enough he could pull all the threads of his memory back in place.

An envelope beside the bed caught his eye.

His name was written on it in careful handwriting that he would recognize anywhere.

Deckard had left him a note. Why would Deckard leave him a note? A memory tugged at the back of his mind. His brother’s voice echoed from memory.

_Rest now, little brother, while I settle you one last score._

Owen sat up straighter as more puzzle pieces began to click into place.

Deckard was in trouble, and it was his fault.

He scrambled out of bed. A stubborn voice seemed to urge him to stay in bed. Telling him he needed to rest and recover after… he couldn’t remember. But Owen felt fine.

Well, not _fine_ exactly, but he’d definitely felt worse. Although his face did feel a little funny. The side of his face felt tight and a little numb at the same time.

Absently he reached up to scratch it, and quickly withdrew his hand when he felt unexpected bumps and ridges.

What the hell…

He looked around the room, spotting a mirror in the corner and running to it.

The sight before him didn’t compute right away. The man in the reflection was definitely him. But half of his face was horrible scarred.

Owen tentatively reached up a hand and traced the raised and pinched edges of scar tissue. They looked like burns. Burns and… like he was dragged?

Images and quick memories flashed before him. He’d fallen from something very fast, and then there was a burning hot fire and the smell of gasoline.

Owen didn’t know what happened. But he had the distinct feeling that Deckard’s words had come after the crash. So chances are, he was looking for some payback.

Owen pulled his hand away from his face and looked around the room. 

Whoever managed to hurt him this badly had a good chance of hurting Deck too, and Owen would be damned if he was just going to stand by and let that happen.

There were no obvious weapons in the room. Whoever brought him here probably wouldn’t have left any for him to use against them. But that didn’t mean Owen couldn’t make his own.

His eyes scanned the room. It was pretty spartan when it came to furniture. In fact there wasn’t much beside the bed. Not even a chair he could bust the leg off.

Owen turned back to the mirror. Trying to avoid looking at his own reflection as much as possible, he used his elbow to break the glass.

As he grabbed one of the larger shards, he suddenly realized he wasn’t in hospital attire. Whoever brought him here had dressed him in sweatpants and a dark long sleeve shirt.

Who gave him these clothes? Was it Deckard?

No, Deckard was in trouble.

Owen glanced to the bedroom door. He didn’t know who would be on the other side, but whoever it was, wasn’t going to keep him from helping his brother.

He approached the door with caution, surprised that it was unlocked.

That didn’t mean anything though. Sometimes kidnappers and mercenaries won’t bother locking doors if their security’s good enough.

But when he opened the door and found no one, Owen was beginning to suspect that whoever had him was possibly just stupid. There were no guards. No security cameras. Nothing.

Owen cautiously stepped into what turned out to be a short hallway. He passed other doors until he reached where the house split into two directions. He used the mirror shard to peek around one corner.

It looked like a cozy living room. There were even photos lining the walls, although he wasn’t close enough to make out any faces.

“Hey you’re awake!”

Owen spun on his heel. Coming from the other direction was none other than special DSS agent Luke Hobbs. He should have known the man would be involved somehow.

“You!” Owen sneered and brandished his makeshift weapon.

Hobbs stopped, staying out of reach. At first he looked confused, then somewhat alarmed. Good. At least he had a little common sense.

“Whoa, hold on Owen.” Hobbs slowly raised his hands. He wasn’t armed. In fact the only thing he was holding was a coffee mug. And why was he suddenly calling him by his first name?

“Shut up.” Owen took a step forward. “Where’s Deckard.”

“Your brother’s going to be here soon. Okay? So let’s put the glass down and talk this through.” He was talking to Owen with a calm and level voice. The same kind he’d probably use in hostage situations.

But unfortunately for him it wasn’t having the desired effect. Owen was still hung up on the part about his brother.

If Deckard was on his way here, then Hobbs must be using him as bait. He was leading Deckard into a trap. Owen couldn’t let that happen.

He didn’t bother taking time to respond. Instead he immediately jumped into action.

Owen lept at Hobbs, swiping at the side opposite of the hand that Luke was holding the mug with so he couldn’t block or grab at him.

Hobbs shouted and stepped back to the sharp barely grazed him, his black tank top taking most of the damage.

Coffee spilled from his mug as Hobbs took another quick step back, but Owen didn’t stop. He kept advancing, forcing the DSS agent backwards until they reached the end of the hallway and reached a bedroom.

“Owen stop!” Luke said. “You’re not--”

Whatever lie he was about to tell was cut short as Owen kicked Hobbs in the chest. He wasn’t expecting for the shot to land but grinned to himself when it did. 

Hobbs’s foot caught on a rug and he fell backwards, toppling to the ground like a falling oak tree.

Owen was on him in a second, wanting to get the upper hand while Hobbs was still stunned. He pressed the mirror shard against the other man’s neck and growled. “I don’t know what you’re playing at. But you’re not hurting my brother.”

He pulled the glass back, raising it over his head and prepared to bury it in Hobbs’s throat when-

“Owen! No!”

Deckard?

Owen looked over his shoulder where his brother was standing in the doorway. He looked fine, except for the terrified expression on his face. His hand was raised, reaching out to him.

“Put the glass down.” Deckard ordered.

He didn’t look armed. In fact, he didn’t look like he was prepared for a fight at all. He was wearing comfortable civilian clothes that almost seemed to match the ones Hobbs had on.

While Owen was distracted, Hobbs reached up and gripped his wrist, squeezing and twisting it until he dropped the broken mirror.

Owen got a punch in before Deckard was pulling him off Hobbs and into a tight restricting hug.

“God dammit.” Deckard said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Owen genuinely didn’t know who that last part was directed to. Why would Deckard apologize to him? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Owen was the one that got him into this mess. If anything, he should be the one apologizing.

But the thought of Deckard apologizing to Hobbs seemed even less plausible.

“Are you alright?” Deckard asked. And surprisingly, it was Hobbs that answered.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Deckard’s hold loosened a little, giving Owen the chance to look around at where Hobbs was leaning against the bedroom wall. He was staring at Deckard with… was it relief? 

Why was he not trying to arrest them? Why wasn’t Deckard trying to shoot or blow their way out of here? Owen was missing something, and he knew it.

“What’s going on?”

Deckard turned back to him; his eyes softened but they were still plagued with a deep hurt.

“You don’t remember much, do you?”

“I remember the London job. And Toretto, and that giant oaf hunting me and my team down.” Owen said, gesturing to Hobbs. Why did it feel like he was defending himself? “And I remember some kind of fire and explosion.”

Deckard listened intently, nodding along to what Owen was saying. But once he was done, he opened his mouth, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“Owen, that was three years ago now.”

* * *

Deckard and Luke explained everything. It felt like they had a lot of practice. And with everything they were saying, Owen got the feeling that they’d had this conversation before.

When Owen fell out of that airplane, his brain had taken some serious damage. He was in a coma for three and a half months, and when he woke up the doctors quickly realized his mind seemed to reset every night, erasing his new memories and taking him back to when he first woke up.

Deckard and Hattie (apparently she’d reconnected with them at some point) had tried a few things, trying to help Owen remember, or at least prepare for the not-remembering. Deckard’s letter on the nightstand had been some kind of explanation that usually worked. But not always.

Owen didn’t know what to say.

How are you supposed to respond when someone tells you your whole world’s been turned on its axis?

He decided on just focusing on how close Deckard’s hand was to Luke’s on the table. Their pinkies reached out, just barely not touching as his older brother answered all of Owen’s questions.

A lot seemed to have happened in three years.

* * *

Owen may not have had all the details, but he knew his brother was in trouble. And it was all Toretto’s fault. Why else would he wake up in the American’s home with no memory of how he got there?

He holstered the gun Toretto was stupid enough to leave lying out and followed the sound of people talking. It seemed to be coming from the backyard.

Wanting to have the element of surprise, Owen climbed out the bedroom window (another mistake on Toretto’s part) and climbed up to the garage roof. It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel if they were all gathered together.

Owen had just reached the top of the garage and unholstered his gun when he heard someone shout.

“Hey there Fifty First Dates!” Roman called up.

Owen stared down as multiple pairs of eyes looked up at him. None of them seemed too surprised to see him. At best, they seemed somewhat confused.

“What are you doing up there?” A familiar feminine voice asked, causing Owen to rapidly search the small crowd until he found the speaker.

“Hattie?” He hadn’t seen her in nearly a decade. Not since Deckard was betrayed by MI6.

Owen jumped down from the garage, pistol still in hand, but more out of caution than anything else. He surveyed the scene, trying to figure out why his sister appeared to be having a barbeque with the very people that attacked him and were possibly after their brother.

And speaking of which, there was Deckard, perched so close to Special Agent Luke Hobbs he might as well have been sitting in his lap.

Owen lowered his gun.

What the hell was going on?

After a lengthy pause Toretto slowly approached him, offering a beer. “You’re just in time. Tej was about to fire up the barbeque.”

Owen looked from Dom, to his siblings. Deckard gave him a steady nod, seeming to try to convey that everything was alright.

He looked back to Toretto and cautiously accepted the beer. He turned the label over, realizing it was his favorite brand. But how did Toretto know? And how did he get it imported all the way from England?

Hattie rose from her seat and tossed an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve got some catching up to do.” She led him back toward the house. “Come on, I’ll get the recording loaded up.”

Later Hattie would tell him his gun was loaded with blanks, just in case. It was one of the many safety measures he himself had thought up to make his transition as smooth as possible.

The news that his mind kept resetting at the end of every day had been overwhelming and upsetting at first. But the video Hattie showed him (something he’d apparently helped them put together) showed Owen that his life didn’t end when he fell out of that plane. It just changed.

He still helped his family with jobs, bothered Deckard, and apparently got along pretty well with some of Toretto’s crew.

But what stuck out to Owen the most amidst the montage of candid recordings from a life he lived but couldn’t personally remember, was the fact that his family was together.

He might not understand all of it. And he might not remember this feeling tomorrow. But right now, as Owen followed Hattie out to the backyard filled with people who had welcomed him into their lives over and over again, he was happy.

And Owen could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me prompts on tumblr (possiblypogue).  
> And let me know if you liked this fic!


End file.
